


Hunting the Sky

by PrettyFrog



Series: The Age of Dragons [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Magic, Demons, F/M, Grey Wardens, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6188680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyFrog/pseuds/PrettyFrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A werewolf, a chevalier, a templar, and a dalish elf walk into the Wild. A search for a talking darkspawn leads them down a dark path, towards old magic, ancient evil, and an elven mage with a terrible secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunting the Sky

The Lady was gone. The Lady was gone, and she was human once more. Swiftrunner was speaking with their rescuers. The Wardens. Then her pack leader turned to them, and slowly they began to stream out of the ruins.

They were almost to the edge of the woods when she slowed. Gatekeeper turned to her. "Skyhunter?"

"Where do we go now?"

"Home."

She shook her head. She'd had one of those once, until the curse had come upon her. Her husband's blood on her claws. After so many years, would any of them even remember? "I can't."

Gatekeeper's face was gentle, and he put an arm around her shoulders. "We will make a new home."

#

There was screaming. Young voices. She headed towards them. Darkspawn cut down the man trying to defend his children. A growl started low in her throat, and she charged. She bore the first darkspawn to the ground, and came up with its greatsword in her hands.

For a moment, she felt the strength of the wolf again. The Lady was with her. And the battle was joined.

They were a boy and girl. The girl perhaps nine, the boy younger. Mere pups, looking up at her with tearstained eyes. "Come. I will take you to safety."

#

Refugees were going to a place called Redcliffe. So many people. A chantry sister took the children from her. "Thank you."

She nodded, and started to walk away. The boy caught her hand. "What's your name?"

For a moment, the question threw her. Once, a long time ago, she'd been Rachel. But Rachel had died with her husband. "I am called Skyhunter."

"Are you a Grey Warden?" he asked, gazing up at her.

She considered the question. "Not yet."

#

More refugees. Only this time, it was bandits that hunted them. A half dozen, laughing at the desperate family. One of them put their hands on the woman.

Her fingers tightened on the hilt of the blade.

#

"You won't stay?"

"You will be safe here," Skyhunter told them. "Others are still out there."

The refugee nodded. "Maker bless you and keep you safe."

She didn't need the Maker. She had the Lady.

#

The darkspawn seemed less formidable. Many of them seemed to be fleeing. That did not stop them from preying upon a group of wounded soldiers. She stepped out of the trees, lifted her greatsword, and came to their aid.

"Thank you, my lady," one of the soldiers said.

"I am not Lady," she replied. "Something has changed."

The soldier smiled. "They did it. The Wardens. They killed the archdemon. The Blight is over."

She nodded. "Where can I find the Wardens?"

"Um... Denerim, I think."

Denerim. Far to the northeast. "It will be a long journey," she said, and started walking.

#

There were still darkspawn. Still refugees. She arrived in South Reach with almost a hundred trailing behind her. Her small band, old men and young boys, armed with what swords they'd scavenged, led the refugees to shelter.

She was turning to go when a Chantry sister caught her arm. "Skyhunter."

"Yes?" It was the sister from the road to Redcliff.

"There is another camp a days travel south. They need supplies, but bandits have been..."

"I will need armor."

#

She was nearly to Denerim when she heard the news. The Wardens were in Amaranthine. She saw her latest band of refugees to safety, and continued her journey.

#

The men at the Keep claimed to be Wardens, but they spoke with Orlesian accents. None were the ones that had come before The Lady. She considered going back to Denerim, then shook her head. Perhaps the Wardens were in the city of Amaranthine itself.

#

The cell door closed. She stared at it in confusion. They'd taken her sword and her armor. What difference was there between killing a bandit on the street and killing a bandit in the woods? The man, constable they'd called him, said she would have to wait for the arrival of the Arl. He'd glared at her, through the eye she'd blackened.

#

There were screams. Smoke and fire. The guards had told her to wait in the cell, but she could hear the people in danger. She shook her head, called upon The Lady, and broke the door.

#

She saw him. The Warden. The one that had nearly been part of her pack. He was calling commands, and the others were paying heed to his words. She smiled, then walked to him.

He looked up at her. "I need an axe and armor," she said.

He met her eyes, and she saw him recognize her. "What are you called?"

"She called me Skyhunter."

A few minutes later, she had her armor and her weapon. And her task. The darkspawn came, and she growled.

 

 

________________________________

 

It didn't matter that she was only a child. If they caught her, they would kill her. Or worse. She walked through the Orlesian soldiers as if she hadn't a care in the world.

The baker smiled at her as she haggled for the bread. Three loaves. Next she bought cheese, then apples, counting out the coins carefully and giggling at a joke the merchant told. A chevalier patted her head as she passed, called her something in his tongue. Terror seized her heart. She made herself smile as she curtsied, and offered him a flower out of her basket. He took it, and gave her a copper.

She spent the copper on more bread, and added it to her burden. Slowly, she meandered the market a few minutes more before heading into an alley. A heartbeat later, she slipped through a window, and into a dark basement. Two taps, silence, then three taps more. The wall slid open.

Rebel soldiers took the food from her gratefully, praising her bravery. Thanks to the chevalier, there was enough for everyone. Alfred, the young man who led the rebels, called her a patriot.

#

She woke just before sunrise. After a moment, she rose, and stretched, working out the kinks in her shoulders. She drew a robe around her, and opened the window. Outside, the air was crisp. Spring had not wholly taken hold yet, though the forest was greening. In the distance, she could see the sanctuary. This year, perhaps, the trees would bear fruit.

When she'd been a girl, the Wardens had been exiled from Ferelden. Now Wardens sat on the throne, and she was a member of the order. She smiled. Odd where fate could take one.

"You're beautiful when you smile," a voice said, the accent lilting.

Odd indeed. Once the sight of a chevalier was cause for fear. Now, she shared a bed with one. She came over, sat down next to her mate, and kissed him.

#

In his dreams, he had both legs. He ran through the gauntlet at the academy, swift and nimble with youth. His elder brother tried to follow, and ended up knocked to the ground. Voices laughed, and he went to help the other man up. Thibault had shoved him away, then stalked off.

His brother had left the academy four days later. It had not been entirely by his choice. Keenan had gone on to graduate, and earn his yellow feather. His brother had never forgiven him for it.

Thibault had actually paid him a visit just before the Wardens had sent him to Ferelden. "Off to be a dog-lord in turnip keep." He'd received a letter from Thibault shortly after Nida had returned to Orlais, with still more gloating about his disgrace.

And yet, sitting there, watching her breathe in the spring air, he knew this was where he belonged. His wolf-woman came to him, greeting him with a kiss. A moment later, both mabari hounds leaped onto the bed, wanting some attention for themselves. He laughed as he disentangled himself.

Skyhunter handed him the metal leg, and he secured it.

#

Warden-Commander Jerath greeted them as they came downstairs. The Orlesian Wardens that had arrived with him had cited the fact the man was an elf as the reason the Vigil needed them to provide a strong hand. Thibault had his fair share of taunts about serving a rabbit.

They'd never met the man.

"Change of plans. You two are riding out with Ser Alec and his men."

Skyhunter blinked. "What's going on?"

"We've conflicting reports from the Hinterlands, south of Redcliffe. Most claim that the trouble is bandits, but there are several reports indicating scattered darkspawn activity. We've had a request to send some of our knights and Wardens." Jerath glanced at Keenan. "And Ser Alec wants to talk to you about the training methods of the chevaliers."

"When do we leave?"

"As soon as your horses are saddled."

#

Most horses were frightened of her. Even the trained warhorses of the Order shifted nervously at her approach. Bronto, however, was used to her. She saddled him quickly, then glanced over to see if Keenan needed help. After two years, he moved around easily on the metal leg, but mounting a horse did provide him with some difficulty. He accepted her hand.

Bronto was eager to be on the move. She stayed near Keenan, listening to him and Ser Alec talk about calvary tactics. Her mate could no longer fight from horseback as effectively as he had before losing the leg, but he still remembered all his training.

Their mabari, Lighteye and Gwendoline, moved easily among the horses, as did the four mabari belonging to knights. She'd trained both hounds and masters fighting as a pack.

She let Keenan do the talking. He was better at it.

#

They moved well enough that many would mistake them for chevaliers, at least from a distance. Up close, most betrayed their common blood easily. That nearly a third of them were elves also distinguished them.

Most of the elves rode lighter horse, and carried shortbows. Skirmishers, fast and mobile. The majority of the humans wore lighter armor, and rode the Anderfels horses. Five, however, rode the massive beasts like Skyhunter's Bronto, and were dressed in plate. With their armored mounts, they were almost mobile siege engines.

"So what trouble are we on our way to find?" Keenan asked.

"Until the last missive, we thought we were after common bandits, possibly some darkspawn."

"What changed?"

"A group of a twenty templars vanished without a trace." Ser Alec shook his head. "Veteran men, most of them. Knight-Commander Greagoir made the request personally."

He'd heard stories of the Witch of the Wilds. Yet given what else he'd heard, he was confident that if there was any chance she was responsible, the Commander would be leading this force personally. "Were they hunting an apostate?"

"According to the report, they'd sent a raven saying they'd found and dispatched an abomination, and were on their way back. Except they never made it out of the Wild."

#

She dismounted, and moved forward, Lighteye at her heels. The tracks showed it plainly, and it took her less than a minute to locate the bodies of the merchants. "Bandits," she called over her shoulder. "Not spawn." After turning a critical eye to the tracks, she continued. "Band of ten, maybe twelve. Went south."

Ser Alec nodded. "Let's take care of that problem, then see if we can find those missing templars."

#

The bandit saw the false leg, and his eyes lit up as he charged, sword above his head. Keenan shifted his weight to his good leg, spun, and cut the man down. The second bandit moved in more cautiously, and managed to last nearly five seconds. He may not have been what he was three years ago, but he was still a trained chevalier and Warden.

On the other side of the camp, he noted that some of the bandits had decided that the lone woman was an easier target than the knights. Skyhunter picked one up by the throat and smashed him against his compatriot before drawing her massive greatsword. At the academy, his instructors had disparaged such weapons as ungainly and awkward. But then, they'd never seen her.

A few of the smarter bandits attempted to simply make a run for it, aiming for the rough terrain where the horses could not follow easily. Ser Alec sent the elves after them. Some of the bandits had surrendered. Arl Teagan had a reputation as a good and fair man, and perhaps they thought he'd show them mercy.

"Sers?"

"Yes, Zeph?"

"Might want to come take a look at this."

That Zeph had once been a bandit didn't slow him down at all on these runs. If anything, he seemed to enjoy them. But then, Zeph had been thief, not killer. The chevaliers would have turned up their noses at the man, if not slain him outright for having the nerve to ask to join their ranks. He led them to a makeshift prison in the bandit camp.

"Maker's breath, those are templars," Ser Alec said.

#

The two men were in rough shape. Their wounds had been left all but untreated. Both were shaking, delirious with lyrium withdrawal. The first gave his name as Emory. The second could not manage even that much coherence.

Ser Alec leveled his blade at the throat of one of the surrendered bandits. "Explain yourselves."

"We found them, my lord," the man said, swallowing nervously. "At the edge of the swamp."

"Ah, so locking them up to rot was an act of mercy, was it?" Ser Alec narrowed his eyes.

The bandit gave him a pleading look. "We weren't the ones what hurt them, my lord. We was going to sell them back."

Keenan shook his head at the man. Ransoming templars. Surely the man had to know how badly that would have ended for him. He saw Skyhunter rummaging around in her pack, and raised an eyebrow at her. After a moment, she joined them, carrying a couple restorative draughts and two small vials. He blinked. "You have lyrium?"

"Velanna," Skyhunter said, then shrugged.

Ser Alec followed them back to where the templars were lying. Skyhunter gave Emory one of the restorative draughts. She had to pour it down the throat of the second man. Then she handed over the lyrium vial.

Emory all but snatched it from her and drank it eagerly. He even ran his tongue along the inside of the vial, trying to get every last drop. Keenan almost felt some pity for the man.

"What happened?" Ser Alec asked, after Emory had stopped shaking.

"We were captured by these bandits as we were leaving the wild," Emory said.

Keenan nodded. "They said they found just the two of you. What about the others?"

"It is a chantry matter," Emory replied.

"Greagoir himself requested our help in finding you," Keenan said. "I'm Warden Keenan, this is Warden Skyhunter. What happened?"

Emory shook his head. "It is a chantry matter."

The other man stirred, and with Skyhunter's help, managed to sit up. "They should know," he said, his voice weak.

"Shut up, Graham."

The other man shook his head. "No. Someone has to know." He coughed. "I'll not go to the Maker with this on my conscience. We left him, Emory."

"He made his choice," Emory spat.

"He was trying to..." Graham coughed again, and Skyhunter offered him another of the elfroot draughts. He took it. After finishing it, he began to tell them what happened.

 

________________________

 

Most abominations had been blood mages, weak fools desperate for a shred more power. Some had been monsters long before giving themselves over to the demons. Others were simply mad, or easily tempted, ruled by their emotions.

This one, by all accounts, had simply been an eleven-year-old girl, desperate and terrified as the darkspawn came for her family. Her elder brother had pleaded with them to end her suffering when he told them where she could be found. A makeshift cabin, on an island in the swamp, where both blackberries and cranberries grew wild.

"Maker forgive you, and keep you close," he said, looking at the remains.

The demon had not been strong. Haywood had a burn on his arm more from being careless than anything else. Ivan had lost his footing on some slick rocks and was nursing a broken wrist and a wound on his shoulder. Darius, new to their ranks, had acquitted himself well, stepping in to save Ivan before the shade could finish off the fallen man.

Emory gave the order for the corpse to be burned, then yelled at Jasper and Corbin for picking berries. Both men were completely unapologetic in ignoring him. Graham couldn't really blame them as he helped himself to a few of the blackberries.

They built the pyre, and gathered the ashes to take back to the family. "Getting late," Emory said. "We'll camp here tonight."

The words were barely out of his mouth before Corbin had his helmet off and was using it as a bucket, stripping branches of berries. Jasper managed to get a couple rabbits with his sling, and they settled in to a nice meal.

#

"They sent twenty of you after a single young abomination?" Ser Alec asked.

Graham sighed. "They sent twenty of us because it involved a trip into the wild, where darkspawn are still present." He shook his head. "And in the end, twenty wasn't enough."

#

He wasn't sure what woke him. Ivan and Jasper had the watch, and both men appeared to be awake. He climbed out of his bedroll, and stood. Neither man so much as looked up at him. They simply kept staring out into the swamp. Ivan was drawing lazy circles in the mud with a stick, while Jasper whittled something. "Ivan?" Graham called out quietly.

The man didn't respond. Graham went for his sword, and sounded an alert.

The camp erupted into an as lightning rained down on them.

#

"Report," Emory ordered.

"Ivan and Jasper are dead, ser," Haywood said. "They were ensorcelled, didn't move when the storm came. I think Corbin is too. He was trying to drag Jasper to safety and got hit."

Graham looked around. They'd numbered twenty. Three were dead. He counted twelve. "Eben, Ansel, Darius, Ulric, and Osbert are missing, ser."

Emory nodded. "When the lightning started, they had to flee the other way. Nobody said anything about there being another mage here."

"The Witch of the Wilds roams this swamp," Haywood said.

"I have no time for children's stories, Haywood. We have wounded, and missing men." Emory shook his head, then looked back towards the ruins of what had been their camp. "And no supplies."

A chill went up Graham's spine. Few of them had managed to grab all their armor, and two of them didn't even have weapons. And no supplies meant very limited lyrium. He had maybe a half dozen of the little vials. "We should be able to make it to the village in a week."

Emory nodded. "Let's locate the others. We will regroup, resupply, and come back for the maleficar."

#

They found Ansel hanging from the branch of a tree the following day. He'd been bound to the branch by what at first looked like thick ropes. Graham heard Haywood vomit into some bushes, and for a moment, thought he would do the same.

"Maker's breath," Travers said.

"What tracks do you see?" Emory said.

Graham examined the trail. "It's hard to make out. Some fighting took place, but I can't say for sure what attacked them. Some fled." He pointed. "Deeper into the swamp."

Emory glanced back at Ansel's body. "Cut him down. We don't have time for a pyre, but I'm not leaving him like that."

"Yes, ser."

#

"They ran deeper into the swamp?"

Graham nodded. "They were young men, turned around in the darkness. And seeing a friend killed like that... I imagine they panicked." He winced as he coughed. "Ansel had no armor, nor weapon that we could see. We should have headed back then, but... they were our boys, and there was a good chance they were unarmed and unarmored and..."

Ser Alec patted his shoulder. "We'd have done the same."

#

The next day, they found another. Eben's body was floating, face down, in the murky water. Haywood started wading towards it, and then there was a soft groaning noise. The trees around them suddenly seemed to shift.

Those who had weapons drew them. "What was..."

A tree branch wrapped around Haywood's throat as the forest came alive around them. The templar had just enough time to scream before the branch shoved him underneath the murky water.

Other trees moved, their roots coming out of the ground as they closed. Travers severed the branch holding Haywood. A heartbeat later, another branch went through Travers' chest. The man looked down in surprise, then was jerked off his feet and hurled into the distance. Haywood floated to the surface, his neck bent at an odd angle.

"Run!" Emory shouted.

They hadn't made it more than a few steps before more trees came to life, blocking their path. Those armed made a circle around the others. The trees grew closer, and the templars prepared to sell their lives dearly.

There was a shout, and fire exploded in the midst of the trees. The trees gave great shrieks as they flailed about.

"This way!" Graham recognized the voice of Darius and started heading in that direction.

Some of the trees tried to attack again, and a wall of fire sprang up to cover their escape.

#

"Fire? Another mage?" Keenan asked.

"A strong mage," Graham said. "Contrary to belief, most of them can't summon that kind of power, not without blood magic or calling upon demons."

Keenan glanced up at Skyhunter. They'd seen both Anders and Velanna call up similar. Of course, given what happened with Anders, he may not have been the best example.

#

Darius led them to some elven ruins. Osbert was inside, laying on a dry pallet. A poultice and bandage covered a wound on his side, and he appeared to be unconscious.

The mage entered behind them. She was an elf. He would have assumed she was Dalish, but she wore no facial markings. An apostate then. An apostate who had come to the rescue of a dozen templars. Emory glanced at the wounded man, then at Darius. "Ulric?"

"Dead," Darius said, shaking his head. "The trees..."

"Sylvans," the mage said. When Graham turned towards her, she explained. "The veil in this area is weak, and weakened further by the abomination you slew. Demons crossed over, and took possession of the trees." She walked around them. "There are old wards here. This place is safe enough."

Emory stared at her a moment, then sheathed his sword. The rest of them followed suit. "Thank you for your assistance."

She shrugged. "Thank him," she said, gesturing at Darius. "I've no particular interest in aiding templars, but he was most persuasive." She moved towards a firepit, and ignited the kindling with a wave of her hand before busying herself adding things to a cooking pot.

Darius looked at them. "I stumbled in here, carrying Osbert. Nearly tripped over her." He glanced at the woman, then sighed. "She agreed to help, and to get us out of the swamp safely. I... had to promise we'd let her be, after."

Emory nodded, but Graham could tell from his face he had no intention of honoring the younger man's promise.

#

"Any idea who attacked our camp?" Emory asked the elven mage. She'd declined to give them a name.

"Most likely, the girl or her mentor," she replied.

Graham blinked. "No mention was made of the girl having a mentor."

"It wouldn't exactly be a secret if everyone went around telling the templars now, would it?" she asked. She began ladling them out bowls of the soup.

He considered turning the meal down. She was, after all, an apostate. He sighed. And if she'd wanted them dead, all she'd needed to do was stay her hand. He took the bowl she offered.

"What do you know of this mentor?"

"I mind my own business," she said. "With the spawn, many dark things have had to flee the deep swamp to safer areas."

"And you?" Emory said.

She laughed, then gestured at their surroundings. "These ruins have laid untouched for hundreds of years. I'd hoped to find treasures within." After a moment, she shook her head. "And no sooner do I get the door open, than the templars arrive."

Osbert stirred, and she started towards him. Emory leapt to his feet, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "You can let me tend him, or you can watch him die."

"He was poisoned, ser," Darius said. "By one of the trees."

Emory sighed, and stepped aside to let the apostate check on the wounded man. Then suddenly he blinked. "What did you mean by, 'the girl or her mentor'? We slew the girl."

"Sure of that, are you?" The apostate shook her head. "Hard to tell them apart, once they get that far gone. That girl wasn't the only one who'd rather fall to demon than darkspawn." She finished tending to Osbert, using herbs as much as magic. Then she stood, and looked the rest of them over. "You can sit there with your bruises and scrapes, you can have a draught, or you can let me heal you. Choice is yours."

#

By morning, Vernon's hands were trembling. Graham was feeling a bit shaky himself. They'd at least a week's walk back to the nearest source of lyrium, and had a wounded man who'd slow them down. Assuming they could even bring him with. Osbert had yet to regain consciousness, but his color looked better. The mage showed Darius where the food supplies were, and left him to make breakfast while she tended to Osbert.

The normally garrulous young templar went about the task almost silently. Graham gave him a concerned look. "Are you alright?"

"Ansel and Ulric..." Darius sighed. "Eben didn't make it then?"

"We found him, near the trees. Haywood and Travers died there."

Darius added water to the leftover stew, then added more ingredients. He glanced over at where Emory was sitting, glaring at them sternly. "The Knight-Corporal is angry with me."

"The Knight-Corporal is angry at the situation."

"He's not going to hold to the deal."

"I imagine once she's led us out, he'll take her into custody." He blinked as Darius paled slightly. "What's wrong?"

"She's powerful, ser. And... without lyrium..."

"Yeah."

Darius sighed. "Without lyrium, we won't be able to take her into custody. If she resists, he'll have no choice but to attack her. That's a bad idea."

"Guess we'll have to hope she stays reasonable, then." Graham sighed. "She saved our lives, Darius. The Knight-Commander will take that into account."

Darius only nodded.

#

Osbert awoke that evening. He was a bit on the delirious side and had little memory of what happened, but he was awake. The mage said he'd be able to walk, and she'd take them out in the morning. She reminded Emory that the deal was he'd let her be after. Emory reassured her. They all knew he was lying. Graham saw her eyes. She knew it too.

She held up her end anyway. They were past the blasted camp when he saw Emory start fingering the hilt of his sword. His hands trembled. They'd been without lyrium for days, and it was taking its toll on them. Darius was pulling the travois that carried Osbert. Graham noted the man seemed to be in better shape than the rest of them. Maybe it was due to him being younger.

And that's when they saw the girl. Eleven, maybe twelve. She fit the description her brother had given, right down to the silver Chantry amulet. She looked up at them, smiled, and waved. The mage waved back.

#

"I drew my blade," Emory said. They turned to look at him. He sighed. "I drew my blade, and I accused her of being the one to attack the camp."

Graham sighed. "For all we yet know, she was the one that attacked the camp and killed Ansel."

Ser Alec sighed. "Darius was under her power, wasn't he?"

Emory bowed his head, then sighed. "Darius was a foolish boy, a dumb kid with his heart in the right place. He'd made two bargains with her, not just the one he'd told us about."

Keenan blinked. "What do you mean?"

"The deal he told us about was what he said. She'd show us out of the swamp, and in return, we'd let her be," Graham said.

"But the first bargain, that was her saving us in the first place."

#

The elven mage just smiled when Emory laid the blade against her neck and began demanding answers. It was the child who cast, causing the ground beneath their feet to erupt and knocking them down. The elf stepped backwards, outside of the range of spells as the girl came towards them. She was laughing, a sweet and oddly innocent sound, as she tore the veil.

"You said you'd get them safely out of the swamp," Darius said, climbing back to his feet.

"In case you did not notice, he attacked me," she said. She laughed. "And I am not attacking him."

"Please. Stop her. We had a deal."

The mage held up her staff and the shades stopped their forward motion. "So we did."

Emory and the rest of the templars got to their feet. "Darius...?" Emory started to ask.

"You may go," the mage said. "From here, you can reach the village by morning, if you move quickly." She smiled, and nodded to the demons. "And I do suggest moving very quickly. I cannot hold them forever, after all."

Graham started to reach for his sword, and she turned her eyes to him. "If you attempt any violence against my person or my apprentice, I will release them now."

Emory held up his hand. "We'll go. Darius, get Osbert." When Darius didn't move, Emory blinked. "Darius?"

"I can't, ser."

"Darius?"

The young man shook his head miserably. "We had a deal."

"Yes, she'd get us out of the swamp..."

The mage laughed. "Oh, that. That was in exchange for you leaving me be. That particular deal you have already broken." She nodded towards Darius. "He's talking about the other deal."

"What other deal?"

"Saving you in the first place, of course. Letting you live at all. A simple bargain. His life, for yours."

Graham felt a chill go down his spine. "No."

"Sers, just go. Please." Darius stepped back from them. "If you break the bargain, she'll kill you."

"Or worse," the mage agreed cheerfully. "And not to rush you, or anything, but I'm going to count to one hundred. Then, I'm releasing the demons."

"You can't have him," Emory said.

"One." She smiled. "Two."

Emory glanced at his men, then at the demons, then at Darius. And sheathed his sword. "I will kill you," he said to the mage.

"Five." Her smile became cruel. "Six."

#

"You left him," Ser Alec said.

Emory nodded, his face bleak. "There were seven demons, and two abominations. Had we stayed, tried to fight, we'd all have died. We'd eight swords among us, and maybe five who could lift them. What good would that have done him?" I thought... get to the village, get reinforcements. Maybe we could get back in time to save him from whatever..." He sighed.

"The demons caught up with you," Keenan said.

Graham shook his head. "No. I don't know if she even actually sent them after us, once we left. She kept her end of the bargain."

"After all that, it was darkspawn." Emory's laughter was bitter. "We ran right into them."

"There were four of us left when we stumbled upon the bandits. Walter and Grayson were infected. The bandits put them down, then locked us up."

Emory slammed his fist into the ground. "He gave his life for twelve. And only two of us made it."

#

The Packleader had gone to Ostagar, and Longtooth was dealing with bandits of his own. They gave the report to Elderwolf.

"We found the body of the man who'd been disemboweled, but lost the trail shortly after that," Keenan said.

"The trees did not move," Skyhunter added.

Loghain nodded. "I'm sure Greagoir will be appreciative of your actions. This, however, is a matter for the templar forces."

"She has her pup and prey," Skyhunter said. "Small matter to move her lair. In that swamp, we could wander a dozen paces from her, and not catch her scent."

"You informed Arl Teagan?"

"He said he'd put up a watchtower at the bandit camp and station some soldiers there."

"Darkspawn and bandits are slain," Skyhunter said. "The hunt was unsatisfying, but concluded."

#

She was heading into the keep when she saw a rider coming. Without the templar breastplate, it took her a moment to recognize Emory. She walked to him as he dismounted. "Ser Emory."

He gave her a small bow. "Lady Skyhunter." He glanced around the Vigil, a bit hesitantly. "Would... Could I impose upon you to take me to the Warden Commander?"

The Packleader would be in his office. She nodded, and led Emory to the stairs. The Packleader was accepting a report from the Elderwolf, and she waited until they were done before entering. "Commander."

"Skyhunter." He looked past her to the other man. "A messenger?"

She gestured. "This is Emory. One of the ones we rescued from the bandits."

Emory stepped forward. "Ser Emory Hodson... formerly of the templars."

"Formerly?"

He glanced at Skyhunter, then back at the Warden-Commander. "I assume your wardens gave you a full report of the events in the wild?"

"They did."

"I got most of my team killed," Emory said. "And left another to the tender mercies of an abomination. They... they don't exactly let you stay a templar after something like that."

Jerath nodded. "So you've come to the Wardens."

"I've a sword and shield, and the ability to use them. I'm a trained templar, and there are magic users among the darkspawn. And..." He sighed. "And protecting people is the only duty I have ever wanted."

The Packleader looked at him for a long moment, then turned his gaze to Skyhunter. "If he survives the Joining, I'd assign him to your team. Would you have him?"

She tilted her head to one side, watching the templar for a long moment. "Where is Graham?"

"Nothing that happened was his fault," Emory said. "I made that very clear in my report. He followed my orders, and served well. They transfered him to Markham."

After a moment, she nodded. "Yes. I will take him."

 

________________________

 

Another spring arrived, and still the Packleader had not returned. Alpha, the one who'd come and wore the Packleader's helm, had suggested planting a tree for him. Badger had snarled most fiercely at the notion. Skyhunter agreed. Whatever scent the Packleader had followed to take him from them must be important, and he would return when he'd taken down his prey.

Until then, she had a hunt of her own.

#

Nida had wanted to be the wife of a lord. Salons, fine cloths, visits to the theater. She married the wrong de Blanc. His father was proud of the son that had become a chevalier. Then came the day the cinch on his brother's saddle had broken. A weakness in the leather, the groom had said, but Thibault had convinced himself that it had been an attempt on his life. A favored younger son seeking to usurp the birthright of the elder. That it was untrue changed nothing.

They'd found the stolen sword in his belongings. Thibault had stacked the deck against him nicely. His brother had offered him the opportunity to make a formal confession and apology. Charges would be dropped, but with his honor thus tainted, he'd no longer be a chevalier, and no longer a threat to his brother's position. He could demand a trial, and risk execution in addition to far worse dishonor. His brother would have been satisfied with either choice.

So he'd gone to the Wardens. The Commander of the Grey had leaped at the chance to add a chevalier to their ranks, and it was still a chance to serve, to make the world a better place.

He wished the best for Nida. He hadn't regretted his decision in years.

The Order of Vigilance had built a gauntlet of their own. The spinning pillars were painted with fanciful and frightening images of darkspawn, courtesy mainly of Orliv. Some of the new recruits to the Silver Order, cubs as Skyhunter called them, were running the gauntlet to the laughter of the veterans. Two ended up sprawled in the mud, and came up cursing good-naturedly. As per tradition, they immediately began trying to shake off as much mud as possible onto the onlookers.

Orliv laughed. "Is that the way they do it in Orlais?"

Keenan deliberately thickened his accent. "In Orlais, we have a concept known as dignity." He stuck his nose in the air as he spoke.

"Dignity... dignity..." Orliv shook his head. "Sounds like shemlen nonsense to me, lethallin."

#

"So, a werewolf, a chevalier, a templar, and a dalish walk into a bar..." Orliv glanced at them. "No laugh? Not even a smile. Tough crowd."

Skyhunter just shook her head as she led her little pack into the tavern. She scanned the crowd. "The contact was supposed to meet us here."

At the back of the tavern, a guard looked up and saw them. He walked over. "Senior Warden Skyhunter?"

"Yes."

"Come with me, please?"

She followed him into a back room. "You came to meet with Jakob?"

"He reported darkspawn."

"Aye, and the report must have been accurate. He succumbed to the taint two days ago." The guardsman handed them a roll of parchment. "Sketched this for you, before he died. Map of where he saw them. He was pretty delirious at the end."

"What did he say?" Orliv asked.

"He was crazy. Said the darkspawn had actually rescued him from the monsters. That it talked. Apologized for tainting him, even. Said the Wardens had to know." The guard shook his head. "Like I said, crazy."

"We will look into this."

The guard nodded, then left the room. Skyhunter turned to the others.

"Talking darkspawn?" Orliv shook his head. "Architect's people, or something worse?"

"We will send a raven back to the Vigil, then go find out," Skyhunter said.

#

The two mabari ranged slightly ahead as they went deeper into the swamp. Despite Magpie's best efforts and worst jokes, Flamekeeper's face remained set in grim lines. She watched him from the corner of her eye. This place was the hall of his greatest failure, and none of the victories of the past few years had taken that weight from his shoulders.

A brush at the edge of her senses. She glanced at Magpie, and the Dalish elf nodded. He nocked an arrow to his bow. Her mate and Flamekeeper immediately drew their own weapons. They moved in slowly. She could sense only the one. It remained where it was, even as they came closer. It was watching them. Something about it tickled her memory. Magpie drew back his bowstring and began to take aim.

"Hold." He glanced at her, but obeyed. She took a few steps forward, taking care not to block his shot. "Messenger."

"Wardens. You have come." It gave her a small bow. "I am being pleased by this. The danger, it is being great."

"Skyhunter?" Her mate's voice held confusion.

"This is the one that came to Amaranthine," Skyhunter said. "It helped during the fighting." She narrowed her eyes. "He let you live."

"Yes. He let this one return to the Architect. But this one is wishing to help the Wardens."

Magpie let down the bowstring, but kept the weapon at hand. "The man you sent to Lothering died."

"This one feared that would happen. We were being wounded in the fighting, and blood splattered." The Messenger turned, and gestured deeper into the swamp. "The danger is growing. We must be moving quickly."

Skyhunter turned, and looked over the faces of her pack. Her mate nodded to her. Flamekeeper looked less certain, but nodded as well. Magpie shrugged. She turned back to the darkspawn. "Show us."

#

Her world had been rocked several times over the course of her life, but the past few years had given her several fundamental truths. She had a pack. She had a purpose. Keenan loved her. And Magpie's jokes weren't funny.

Sitting at the fire, watching a darkspawn laugh uproariously at something the Dalish elf said disturbed her on several levels.

"Why was six afraid of seven?" the Dalish man asked.

"I am not knowing." The Messenger leaned forward eagerly for the punch line.

"Because seven eight nine."

The Messenger slapped his knees as he laughed. "It is being funny because it is counting!"

"Maker save us," Flamekeeper muttered.

Her mate was fighting to keep a straight face. "I don't know. I think it's almost sweet."

"Are all Orlesians dropped on their heads when they are children?" Flamekeeper asked.

"Just those of noble birth." Her mate smiled. "It's traditional."

"What do you call an Orlesian prisoner going down the stairs?"

"I am not knowing."

"A condescending con descending."

The darkspawn almost howled with laughter. "It is being funny because the words sound the same!"

"I am going to sleep." Skyhunter glanced across the fire. "Before I drown them both."

#

Four days of trekking through the swamp brought them to dry land, much to Keenan's relief. Twice the false leg had almost been pulled off by the mud. The Messenger stopped them before they got far. "She is placing wards, setting traps. Too far, and she will know."

Skyhunter signaled the mabari to stay close. "She?"

"The mage."

"You didn't say anything about a mage," Emory said.

"She is being the demon summoner."

Keenan glanced at Emory, saw the same question in the former templar's eyes. "Did you see this mage?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Describe her," Emory said, clenching his fists.

The Messenger considered a moment. "She is being an elf. This tall." He held out a hand to indicate height. "Dark hair."

"Emory?"

The man looked down at his fists, and forced himself to unclench them before meeting Keenan's eyes. "It could be her."

Skyhunter growled. "We will brace her in her lair."

Emory's smile was cold. "Yes. We will."

#

Rather than worry about bypassing or deactivating the wards and alerting her that way, they simply had the Messenger set them off. Wandering darkspawn were not uncommon in the Wild, and thus he was a threat she was more likely to simply dismiss.

It was half a day before they reached the ruins.

"June lasa enansal, would you look at that..." Orliv said.

"Incredible." Emory looked over the ruins. "I know scholars who would give their right arms to be standing here."

Keenan nodded. "After we clear the place of trouble, let's send them a letter. A little more prestige for the Wardens never hurt."

They crept in closer. Skyhunter gestured for the others to wait, and she and Orliv went deeper in.

He glanced at Emory. The man was clearly on edge. "You alright?"

Emory sighed. "If it is her..." He shook his head. "She cost eighteen good men their lives. And Darius..." He hung his head. "His mother died three months ago."

"You didn't tell us that."

The man's quiet laugh was bitter. "The last time I spoke to my sister, she hurled a statue at me and told me I should have died instead. She was right." He sighed. "Had I been in my right mind..."

A brush to the edge of his senses told him the others were returning. Skyhunter came first, followed a pace later by Orliv. "Well?"

"We counted thirty," Skyhunter said. "May be more we did not see."

"It's a blasted cult."

"Dragon worshipers?" Keenan asked.

"I saw no dragons," Skyhunter replied. "But some of them carried staffs."

"Might be in over our heads," Orliv said.

They heard a twig snap, and four men came through the brush. The men looked at the Messenger, then their eyes went to the wardens. Confusion dawned on all their faces. Then they drew their blades.

Keenan drew his own blade. "Too late now."

#

They left the bodies concealed beneath the brush, and moved to a different location. Magpie spotted a way into the ruins, and they moved in. A damaged staircase took them into a lower level. Flamekeeper peered at some of the faded carvings. "These ruins are elven, then?"

Magpie nodded. "We should have brought Warden-Constable Brehan. He might actually know what this is supposed to be," he said, gesturing at the carving.

Skyhunter bent, peering at the marks. "A war?"

"Plenty to choose from," Orliv said.

The Messenger led them further in. Lighteye gave a low warning growl, and they immediately ducked further into the shadows. Four armored men and a mage passed by in the corridor, carrying a torch. Skyhunter gave the signal.

Magpie's arrow dropped the mage in his tracks. She went left, with her mate, while Flamekeeper and Messenger went right. When it was done, they dragged the bodies out of the corridor and stacked them in one of the rooms they'd passed.

"Continue in?" Magpie asked.

She nodded.

#

She heard her mate let out a string of curses in Orlesian. Magpie echoed him in elvish. Flamekeeper only stared in silence. The Messenger moved forward into the room, bending to examine one of the strange contraptions. The coppery smell of blood and the sickly sweet odor of rotting flesh filled the room.

The body on the table looked like nothing she'd ever seen before. She glanced at the others. Flamekeeper nodded at it. "An abomination. One fully gone to the demon."

She bent down and sniffed at it. The blood smelled wrong. She looked at the scene. "It was alive when they started cutting it apart," she said.

"Maker," Flamekeeper said. "They... vivisected an abomination?" He shook his head. "Who would do such a thing?" He blinked. "Who could do such a thing?"

"I'm slightly more concerned with 'why would they do such a thing'," her mate said. She had to agree. She'd seen what happened when Justice and the laughing healer had become broken. While she hadn't cared for the men who'd died that day, she cared even less for the idea it had been two of her friends who had killed them.

After counting the pieces strewn about, she growled. "Not just one abomination. Enough parts to make three."

"As if our nightmares weren't bad enough already," Magpie said.

The Messenger gestured at a desk. "They were studying."

"Any idea what?" Flamekeeper asked.

"Some of this looks similar to the notes the Architect took when he examined the Wardens."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her mate freeze. He didn't talk about what had been done to him, but she knew he still dreamed of it sometimes. He'd been the only survivor. She growled.

The Messenger moved the notes on the table. "I do not understand this."

Her mate closed his eyes, then went to the desk. He began looking over the notes. After a few minutes, he shook his head, then gathered the notes and put them into his pack. "As near as I can tell, whoever did this had two goals. Unlocking something, and creating some kind of host that could be controlled. It's... a lot of madness." He shook his head.

"Can we get out of the room of crazy now?" Magpie asked.

#

They found another of the labs not much further in. As bad as the last room had been... Skyhunter found herself wanting to find the person responsible and tear their throat out. With her teeth.

"Children." Flamekeeper sounded sick. "These were children."

Magpie started to say something, then moved to the corner and began vomiting. Gwendoline whimpered as she nudged the hand of one of the dead children.

"I..." her mate swallowed. "I count four."

"This one was changing," the Messenger was standing by another small corpse.

"They all were," Skyhunter said. The face of what had once been a little boy was starting to twist and mar, taking on the shape of the creatures from the other room.

"Abominations. Someone was trying to turn children into abominations." Flamekeeper punched the wall. "This... oh, Maker's breath."

"Summoning demons into children..." Her mate shook his head. "And then slaughtering them when they turned?"

She narrowed her eyes. The wolf was humming in her ears now. "They need to die." She turned to the Messenger. "Did you know about this?"

"I was knowing she summoned demons, and that children were being taken from the Chasind." The Messenger put a hand on his sword. "I was not knowing of this. I would have been asking for more soldiers."

#

Orliv stepped back to them. "There's one man in the room ahead, but no clear shot."

Skyhunter nodded. "We could send the hounds, let them get between him and the next passage, then grab him before he can give the alert."

"And question him," Keenan said. "I want to know what the hell they think they are doing."

She signaled the dogs, then moved in quietly. The man was behind a shelf, his back to them. They had almost reached him when something must have given them away. The man moved, flinging the book he was holding and striking Orliv in the face. Blood spurted from the elf's nose as he staggered.

Lighteye and Gwendoline snarled at the man from their position, and the man went for his sword. He parried Skyhunter's initial sweeping blow, then kicked a chair into her legs. It didn't trip her, but it did slow her enough that he was able to duck back behind a pillar. The Messenger began to circle around towards Skyhunter's side, while he and Emory moved in the opposite direction, surrounding the man. They came around the pillar to find... nothing.

"Where did..." Emory started to ask.

Something thudded behind him. Before Keenan could turn, something had hold of his armor and yanked him back. A blade was pressed against his throat. "Move and he..." The voice cut off. A moment later, the voice spoke again, sounding confused. "Uncle?"

Emory looked white as a sheet. "Darius?"

 

________________________

 

There was a blade pressed against her mate's throat. She bared her teeth. Flamekeeper held up both his hands. "Darius, that man there is a friend of mine." He took a step forward. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't hurt him."

The young man shook his head, clearly confused, then smiled. "I should have known you wouldn't stay dead either." He let her mate go, then sheathed the sword. "What took you so long?"

"Took..." Flamekeeper glanced at the others. "Darius, what... are you all right?"

He blinked. "Of course." Darius glanced at the others. "But I am being a poor host. Please, sit. Would you like tea?"

Flamekeeper glanced at her. She gave him a slight nod. "Tea would be wonderful," he said.

She watched the young man fill a kettle from the water in a barrel. A concerned look showed her Magpie holding a cloth to his face, but he gestured to indicate he was all right. The Messenger looked more annoyed at Magpie's injury than the elf did.

Darius righted the chair he'd thrown at her, then indicated they should sit. She signaled the dogs to remain on guard, letting them know if anyone else was coming, then gestured to the others to sit.

Color was slowly returning to Flamekeeper's face. "Darius, I... what are you doing here?"

"I was reading." He blinked suddenly, then glanced around. Magpie offered him the book back. "Thank you."

"Yes, I know you were..." Flamekeeper shook his head. "These ruins." He glanced back at the passage they'd come through. "Darius, in the labs. What is going on?"

"Oh. That's where Sister is studying. She's close, very close, but there are still too many variables to be sure of duplicating her earlier success." He rose, and began pouring tea.

Flamekeeper's face was horrified. "Darius, those were children."

"It's terrible. The little ones tried so hard," Darius shook his head. "They wanted to be strong, but the demons..." He sighed. "Sister will stop it from happening." He smiled. "I'm glad you are here, uncle. I was worried when you didn't return with the others."

Flamekeeper glanced at the others, then at the tea. The others waited until Darius had taken a drink before having a drink of their own. "What do you mean come back with the others?" He shook his head. "And what do you mean 'sister'?"

"My sister," Darius said. "She is in charge here." He frowned, then looked from Flamekeeper to the others. "Who are the rest of you?"

"I am Skyhunter. We are Wardens."

Darius got up so quickly he knocked his chair over, and started backing away. "Uncle, what were you thinking? Bringing Wardens? Here?"

Skyhunter blinked. She looked from Flamekeeper to the Messenger. The young man had not remarked on the Messenger's presence at all, but was disturbed to find they were Wardens? His reactions made no sense. "Your Uncle has joined our order."

Flamekeeper nodded. "I have been a Warden since... sense I was separated from you."

The young man shook his head, and looked fearfully over his shoulder. "Uncle, you need to go. You need to take your friends and go, now."

"Come with us, Darius."

"I can't. My sister needs me."

"Darius, you don't have a sister."

Darius began to shake. "She needs me. I have to protect her, keep her safe."

"Darius..."

The young man looked at them, then turned and ran. Magpie went for his bow, but Flamekeeper grabbed his arm. "No."

"Well, they definitely are going to know we are here now," Magpie said.

"Let's move."

#

"Blood magic?" Keenan asked Emory.

Emory sighed. "Most likely."

They had retreated into the catacombs. There was a small pool, providing them with fresh water, and several choke points. They could hold their position for some time, if it became necessary. And in a pinch, he was carrying a couple of Dworkin's toys. The dwarf had taken his finest creations with him when he'd gone on the run, but a couple of his apprentices had remained behind. He could seal a path or blow open a wall if he had to do so.

Orliv kept a watchful eye on the corridor, with the mabari beside him. "Why though? She's clearly got plenty of willing followers. Why take a templar captive?"

"Perhaps these followers are not so willing," Emory said. "A single blood mage can enchant several. And she had at least one apprentice."

"So how do we fix this?" Skyhunter asked.

"There are ways to deal with the enchantment," Emory said. "Certain prayers, rituals. Spells by trusted mages. But by far the most effective method..."

She nodded. "Kill the blood mage."

There was a scraping sound in the catacombs. Both mabari immediately went on alert. The Wardens drew their blades as the corpses of the long dead began to rise.

#

They moved quietly through the tunnels, until they saw stars. Skyhunter glanced at Magpie. "If you fly, how long before you can send word?"

He considered. "Back through the swamp... four days. The elven settlement is east, the village north. Which way?"

"We came from the north. They will likely expect that."

"East it is. Good luck." He saluted, scanned the area quickly, and then was moving. He was gone from sight only a minute later, and gone from her senses only a few moments after that.

She sniffed the air, then directed her pack to the south.

#

They couldn't risk a fire. The Messenger offered to share the fish he caught, but he was the only one willing to eat it raw. Though Keenan was fairly sure Skyhunter refused for his sake rather than any actual problem with the idea on her part. They had rations enough in their packs.

Emory was staring at the castle. "They have fires going, on the towers."

"Well, at least those bastards are warm." Keenan sighed. He glanced up at Skyhunter. "Thoughts?"

"They are preparing for something," Skyhunter narrowed her eyes. "Four days until he finds help. A week, perhaps more, until help can arrive."

"You think it might be too late?"

"In that time, they could finish their task, or move their lair again." She shook her head. "It was chance we found them this time."

"I wish you weren't right about that." He shook his head. "At the very least, we need more information for the reinforcements to go on."

#

Carefully, they crept back into the catacombs. There were few cultists for a space as large as the ruins, and they were able to avoid the guards easily.

Skyhunter signaled to her pack, and they moved upwards. She ducked back as a guard passed, then continued. Her hand went up in a gesture of warning as she heard voices.

"...into the swamp."

"If that's true, we'll need to be moving."

"She said no. The ritual is nearly complete. Once she unlocks the sphere, nothing will stop us."

"Then the child survived?"

They were out of earshot a moment later. Skyhunter turned and looked at her mate. He nodded. Somewhere, a child was in serious danger.

#

The two guards on watch died quickly to the blades of Skyhunter and Emory, and were quickly dragged out of sight. Emory stripped off the keys, and unlocked the door.

Inside was a young girl, not much older than seven. She looked Chasind, and blinked up at them in surprise. "Who are you?"

"We are friends, little one. We've come to get you to safety."

The girl nodded, and let Keenan take her hand. Carefully, they made their way back out the way they had come. Skyhunter held up a warning hand. The way was blocked by risen corpses. They moved down a different corridor. This one took them towards the center of the ruins. Skyhunter was starting to signal them down another path when a woman's voice, unnaturally loud, split the air. "Wardens!"

They turned to the direction of the sound. An elven woman stood on a balcony, looking down at them. She was dressed in robes reminiscent of a keeper, and carried a staff carved with a serpent motif. Keenan heard Emory hiss. "That's her?" he asked.

"Yes," the former templar replied. "That is her."

She tapped the staff against the ground. "You were not invited here, Wardens. And you are taking what does not belong to you."

Immediately, both Skyhunter and Emory shifted to block her view of him and the child, granting cover. The Messenger stood to his side, shield at the ready. The elven woman merely laughed. "Come now, there is no need for hostility. Clearly, this has all been a misunderstanding. Lay down your arms, and you will not be harmed."

"She is not being truthful," the Messenger said.

"Got that," Keenan replied.

The woman narrowed her eyes, then gestured. A moment later, two of the cultists came forward, dragging Orliv between them. "As I said, Wardens. Lay down your arms, and I will tell my men not to harm you." She gave Orliv a pointed look. "Or your companion."

"Dammit," Emory said.

"Keenan, think you can make the shot, give him a chance?" Skyhunter asked.

"Yes," Keenan replied. He let go of the girl's hand to reach for his bow. The girl immediately whirled, kicked him hard in his good leg, and ran. He nearly fell. The Messenger tried to grab the girl, and failed.

Laughter came from the woman. "Did you think you could turn mine against me?"

The sound of feet scraping stone came from behind them, and Keenan glanced over his shoulder to see some of the cultists, armed with crossbows. "Skyhunter."

"I see them," she said. Reluctantly, she sighed. "Fight another day."

They nodded, and began laying down their weapons. Almost immediately, two of the cultists came forward and began shackling their hands. The elven mage's smile was wide with satisfaction. When the cultists had finished, she nodded to them. "And as I promised, I will tell my men not to harm your companion." She smirked.

The cultists let go of Orliv's arms. He glanced, then started to move towards them. Her hands suddenly glowed, and she lifted the staff almost negligently. Ice suddenly coated Orliv's form, obscuring him entirely.

Skyhunter roared. The mage laughed, then casually pushed the ice-covered hunter off the ledge. Keenan turned his head away as his friend shattered on the stone. He heard the Messenger wail a protest as they were dragged away.

 

________________________

 

Magpie was dead. She'd lost friends before, and packmates. But he'd been the first lost under her command. The Dalish man had come to them all the way from the forests of Orlais. He'd been eager to join, and proud to serve. Four years, he'd been her packmate. She was going to tear that mage's throat out.

They'd taken her mate's leg, when they'd locked them in the cell. Without it, her mate would need assistance to move with any sort of speed. She glanced at Flamekeeper. His eyes were on the risen corpses that had been set to guard them, and his face was filled with sorrow. She moved to sit next to him.

He pointed at one, the templar breastplate recognizable. "Vernon," he said. "He and I trained together, back before either of us had taken our vows." He gestured at another. "Jasper. I... one of the reasons I liked Orliv so much is he reminded me of Jasper. A light heart, keeping the darkness from the rest of us."

Skyhunter narrowed her eyes. "The guards... were your friends?"

"And to escape, I must be willing to kill them again. Another cruel jest."

She nodded, then looked up as the dead parted, allowing someone through. Darius was carrying a tray. He unlocked the cell door, and entered. As soon as he had set the tray down, she moved, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him up against the wall. Flamekeeper kicked the cell door closed and grabbed the keys, preventing the corpses from entering.

"I was bringing food..." Darius choked out.

"We do not want food," Skyhunter said. She disarmed him, tossing the sword to her mate. Then she tossed him rather casually at the Messenger's feet. The darkspawn brought his foot down on Darius's arm, pinning the man to the floor. "We want answers."

"I can't..." The Messenger shifted more of his weight onto the foot pinning the man in response to the protest, eliciting a cry of pain.

"Darius," Flamekeeper knelt next to him. "You saw the men guarding us. Our friends."

The younger man nodded desperately. "She brought them back. And when she's unlocked it, she'll bring them all the way. She promised."

"Are you insane?" Flamekeeper asked. "Her promises. She promised not to harm our friend only moments before she murdered him."

"She promised only that the men wouldn't hurt him. She never..." Darius cried out again as the Messenger increased his weight again. "She hates the templars. And the Wardens."

"Why?" her mate asked.

"She was close, once. But the templars took her away before she could finish." He shook his head. "She escaped them, but she had to leave him behind. By the time she was able to come back, it was too late. The Wardens had stolen him."

"Him?"

"Her brother."

Skyhunter narrowed her eyes. "You told us you were her brother."

"I am."

"He's not," Flamekeeper said.

"That's obvious," Skyhunter said, poking the captive in the ear.

"I am her brother," Darius said.

"Darius, look at me." Flamekeeper stared at the younger man. Slowly, Darius met his eyes. "Who am I?"

"My uncle." He furrowed his brow. "My mother is your sister."

"I knew your father, yes?"

"Yes."

"He was also a templar, yes?"

Darius blinked. "Yes." He blinked again. "He died. A blood mage... and..."

"And I brought you and your mother to Lake Calenhad, yes?"

"Yes. You took care of us."

"And your mother never remarried, yes?"

"Yes. She loved him too much too..."

"So how can this elf be your sister?"

"She... she's my sister." The young man was shaking. "She's my sister."

"He believes this because of blood magic?" Skyhunter asked.

"Yes." Flamekeeper shook his head. "Though I wonder as to why she'd put this into his head." He looked at the young man again. "Darius, who am I?"

"My uncle. Emory."

"What is she trying to do?"

"She needs the abominations. And she needs control. She's had success with the control."

"Success. You?"

"Yes." Darius actually smiled proudly. "She needs stable abominations under her control, so she can use them to unlock it."

"Use them?"

"The ritual. Their blood."

"What is she trying to unlock?"

Darius shook his head. "I don't know."

Skyhunter frowned, then glanced at Flamekeeper. "Is he an abomination?"

"If he were, we'd be in serious trouble," Flamekeeper said. "No. I do not believe he is. The demon would have defended itself."

She held out her hand, and her mate handed her the sword. "Messenger, keep a grip on him. We are getting out of here."

Flamekeeper stood at the door to the cell, and nodded to her.

#

Emory's face was grim. Keenan couldn't blame the man. They recovered most of their belongings, and Skyhunter helped him replace the leg.

Through the corridor they heard the sound of rhythmic chanting. He turned to their prisoner. "What is going on?"

"She has begun the ritual."

"We need to stop her," Skyhunter said.

Emory glanced through the door. He sighed. "They seem to have realized our escape. There are many more of the corpses." He strapped his shield to his arm. "You will have to hurry."

"Emory?" Keenan asked.

"We are pressed for time," Emory replied. "This is a natural chokepoint. I can hold them here, keep them from coming up behind you."

Keenan started to protest when he heard the Messenger let out a grunting sound. He turned to see Darius's back as the young man fled down one of the corridors. The Messenger started to give chase, and Keenan called him back. "No. We've got a more important problem." He glanced at Emory. "Good luck."

"It has been an honor," the man replied.

#

"Two corridors..." Her mate glanced from one to the other.

The Messenger growled. "I will go this way. You will be going the other. We will kill the mage. We will be avenging my friend."

"Yes," Skyhunter said. "We will."

They'd made it to the end of the corridor when suddenly a glyph glowed around them, and the world seemed to shift.

#

Keenan saw nearly two dozen cultists. On the dias stood the mage, and behind her, the massive form of a pride demon. The mage laughed. "Do you really think you can fight me?" She held an orb out in front of her. It seemed to glow with an eerie green light. "I've already won. What do I need to fear from Wardens?"

He started to take a step forward, then blinked and looked down. Two legs. He had two legs. Which meant... this wasn't real. He looked back at her, then laughed. "Nothing."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"It's not the warden you need to fear, witch." He grinned broadly. "It's the wolf." He hit the ground as nearly eight feet of solid wolf went for the demon's throat.

#

More of the corpses approached. Their numbers seemed endless, and slowly they forced him away from the first chokepoint. He sighed as he saw Darius walking towards him.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter." Emory set his blade and shield.

Darius stepped towards him, his own and sword and shield set. He met Emory's eyes. And then he spoke, his voice slowly growing in strength. "Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just." He turned, stepping backwards to stand at Emory's side.

Their voices rose together as the creatures came. "Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker's will is written."

#

Skyhunter stood, then offered her mate a hand back to his feet. Only a few of the cultists stirred. The mage, however, had fled as soon as she'd attacked.

Her mate shook his head. "Taking a werewolf into the Fade. Good to know she's not as smart as she thinks she is."

"I am going to shove that orb down her throat."

"Maker, I love you, woman."

They headed after the elf.

#

They ran up a flight of stairs, and emerged onto the heights. One of the cultist mages aimed a spell at them, and her mate blocked it with his shield. Skyhunter leaped forward, and caught the mage by the throat. She held him over the side.

The mage sneered at her. "If you know what is good for you, you'll let me go."

She did. So she did.

Her mate looked over the side of the ramparts at where the mage was splattered. "He may have chosen his words poorly."

Skyhunter growled with satisfaction. "Let's go find the elven witch."

#

The air itself seemed electrified. The elven mage was laughing. "It's not too late for you to both take a knee." She glanced at Skyhunter. "I could give the wolf back to you. Give your man back his leg."

Skyhunter growled. "Rather just kill you."

The mage held up the orb. "You're a little late for that." She smiled. "I would have brought my knowledge to the Dalish, but they refused me. Pushed me aside. I would have led them to glory, reclaimed the days of Arlathan."

"Why are you doing this?" Her mate asked. "Why any of it?" He glanced at Skyhunter, and she nodded. Slowly, she began circling to the left, as he moved right. If they could keep her talking, keep her off balance, maybe they had a chance. "Why Darius?"

"My new brother?" She giggled. "Why not? I had a brother, once, before the Wardens took him from me. I wanted that bond again. He killed three templars for me, once. A mere child. All because they threatened his sister." Her eyes were starting to take on a green glow. "Fitting, I suppose, that the final sacrifices will be Wardens." She held up the orb, and started to point her staff at her mate.

Skyhunter called out. "Who are you?"

The mage turned towards her. "I am Varla. And soon, I will be the new Witch of the Wilds." She held up the orb, and started to point the staff at Skyhunter.

"What is it you want?" Her mate asked.

The mage turned back towards him. "I want... enough. Your petty distractions will not stop me." She held up the orb again.

And the Messenger's arrow shot it out of her hand.

#

Keenan shielded his eyes as the mage started to scream. Her entire body seemed to shudder. Green light seemed to expand out from her as she wailed in agony. Something was happening. Something was coming through. He reached a hand into his belt pouch, and pulled out one of Dworkin's creations. The fuse was damaged. Barely any of it remained.

He looked across at where Skyhunter stood. His beautiful wolf-woman. He saw her start to shake her head, saw the look of fear on her face. Then he struck the match.

In death, sacrifice.

#

She was sitting when the Messenger reached her, staring at the remains of the stone tower that had buried whatever it had been the mage was trying to summon. Buried the mage. Buried her mate.

The rest of the ruins were still collapsing. Flamekeeper had not emerged from the tunnels. She did not think that he would. The Messenger grabbed her arm. "We must be going."

For a moment, she considered pulling free. Staying. And then she was ashamed of herself. She was a Warden. She rose, and grabbed the orb from where it had rolled.

And she and the Messenger walked away as the ancient ruins collapsed behind them.

 

________________________

 

 

The war had ended. The Orlesians had been driven out of Ferelden, and a king of the old blood sat on the throne. Soldiers became farmers and craftsmen. Villages were rebuilt. And life in Ferelden, for a time, was peaceful.

She was sixteen, and bigger than most of the boys her age. Her mother often despaired of finding any man that would marry a girl with shoulders like an ox, who would rather wield a sword than a broom.

At the market, she worked her family's stand, selling fruit from their orchard. A handsome soldier with an easy smile browsed the booth. He glanced at her, and then looked again. "I know you," he said.

She knew him as well. "Alfred."

He laughed. "Maker preserve us, little Rachel." He drew her into a hug, and they spent the next two hours laughing and talking.

Three days later he brought flowers to her home.

And three months after that, he bought her a home of her own.

#

She parted ways from the Messenger when they left the Wild. She wished him well. He told her that if she called, he would come.

The Alpha took her report. They'd stopped a threat. It had cost three good Wardens their lives, but they had stopped it. She thought of the orb, hidden in her pack. It was dangerous. Very dangerous. Her mate had given his life to prevent it from being used. And as much as she had trusted the Packleader, the Alpha was not him.

#

For Magpie, she chose a willow. She planted it on the edge of the Sanctuary. One day, perhaps, when it was grown, they'd put a bench beneath it. A place to come, share a drink, and tell bad jokes.

She honored Flamekeeper's wishes. For him, oak. He'd told them the story, of how Andraste had sung beneath an oak tree and been heard by the Maker. A strong wood, for a strong man.

For her mate, she chose ash. He knew why.

She walked to just outside the Sanctuary. The tree she sought was still small. It was slow to grow, but once the roots took hold, it was all but immortal. The Packleader had put it here, not long after she'd joined. It has just been the two of them, when it had been planted. Carefully, she dug a hole, deep beneath the ironwood, and placed the orb within. Then she covered it up, and placed a stone on top. The Lady's Tree would serve as guardian.


End file.
